Happy Ending
by MyLittleCornerOfSherlock
Summary: John's war wound has been bothering him even more since Sherlock's death. His physical therapist recommends massage therapy and, for once, John is following a therapist's advice.


"Hi Mary," John said, as he entered the spa, "How are you?"

"I'm fine. Business is picking up. Holiday season and all," she said. "We've even got a new guy that everyone raves about. They don't seem to care that he can't talk. Most people prefer silence during their massages anyways."

"Yeah. Is he deaf or mute?"

"Mute. My son is deaf, so I translate for him."

"That's good of you. I picked it up doing my rounds during my fellowship."

"You just here for the usual Deep Tissue Massage?"

"Yeah, the shoulder's been acting up again."

"Alright, I'll go get a room ready for you," she said with a wink.

John sat down in the spa's waiting area. He was glad he'd taken his physical therapist's advice to start getting weekly massages for his shoulder. The pain had come back after Sherlock's death and the massages had helped. His therapist had recommended this place. It was owned by an old friend, a Sebastian Moran, of his physical therapist. John had only met him once, even though Mr. Moran was almost always there at the end of his sessions. John was glad he was just the owner and not one of the massage therapists. Something about Mr. Moran made John's trigger finger itchy, but he couldn't say why. He much preferred the bubbly personality of the spa's receptionist.

John looked up as he heard the door open, expecting Mary to tell him the room was ready. Instead he saw a tall man with ginger hair and a beard walk out with his client. He appeared to be looking for Mary. John realized that this must be the new massage therapist, and stood up. As he walked over to offer his assistance, something about the man struck John as familiar. John gave him a second look trying to figure it out. He was tall, with straight ginger hair that he'd slicked back. He wore his goatee trimmed, neat, and in style. Black rimmed glasses framed his dark brown eyes and those eyes had a familiar shape. John shook his head, other than height and the shape of the eyes, there wasn't anything that could be considered familiar about the therapist.

John signed, "Can I help you?"

The other man's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He signed back, "Yes, please."

John translated for the other man and the client answered his questions and paid. Mary walked back, "Oh, I see you've met Simon! He's the new massage therapist I was telling you about," she grinned. Well your room is ready, let's head on back."

Simon smiled his thanks at John and John waved as he followed Mary back to the room. "Everyone that gets Simon raves about him," she said. "And anyone that gets him, always requests him again. His schedule is practically always booked." She continued to babble on about the new therapist as they walked down the hall. "You've got Gena today."

"Ah, good. She knows how to put a good hurting on me," he replied.

When his massage was over, John shrugged his jacket back on with barely a wince. "Thanks, Gena."

"You're always welcome," said the petite massage therapist, "Let's get you settled and don't forget to drink plenty of water today. You know you'll need it."

"Yes, Sir," he mock-saluted her. He always left these sessions feeling much better than when he went in and enjoyed being able to feel almost human again. He followed Gena back up the hallway to the waiting area. He looked around, hoping to see Simon. He wasn't sure why, but he wanted to talk to him again. Instead he found Mary and Mr. Moran at the desk.

"Ah, Mr. Watson," said Mr. Moran, "I hope Gena took good care of you today."

"She always does," said John, forcing a smile. "Shall I settle up the bill?"

"Yes, Mary, take care of that will you? Maybe we've done such a good job that we won't be seeing you again, eh, Mr. Watson? That'd be a shame."  
John laughed half-heartedly. "I don't think I'm quite there yet, Mr. Moran." He paid Mary. "Have a good day." He looked up to see Simon and offered a friendly wave. Simon ignored him, instead looking at his boss.

* * *

When John walked into the spa for his appointment the next week, Mary wasn't her usual bubbly self.

"Hi Mary, everything okay?" he asked.

"Not really. Mr. Moran disappeared earlier this week. No one's seen or heard from him and he's not answering his mobile. It's just not like him."

"That's got to be worrying for all of you. I'm sorry to hear that," he said. John would never have told her he was glad that the man was gone. Something about his last words to John hadn't sat very well with him.

"Thanks," she said," You're lucky today. Simon's available for your time slot, that is if you don't mind a man as your massage therapist?"

"As long as he's as good as you say he is, I'll be fine," he offered her a gentle smile. She was obviously worried and he didn't want to make her feel any worse. "You won't need to translate for us. I don't know if you remember last week, but I actually can sign."

"Oh, thanks so much. There's enough for me to handle as it is. I'll go get the room ready and let him know you're here."

John didn't have to wait long for Mary to come and get him. She wasn't very talkative as they walked back to the room. When she left him at the room, Simon was already there waiting.

"Hi," said John, "I've heard a lot of good things about your work. I hope it's all true. This old soldier is in need of a miracle."

A look crossed Simon's face that John couldn't quite place, but it was gone in an instant.

"You're only as old as you feel," Simon signed back.

"Well, let's see if you can help me feel young again," John laughed.

"I'd like to leave the wound areas until last to make sure I can give them the proper attention, if that's alright with you?" Simon quickly signed.

"You're the expert. I put myself in your capable hands," John answered with a nod of his head.

"I'll leave you to get ready then," signed Simon and he left the room.

John undressed down to his boxers, folded his clothes neatly, and set them in the area designated for them. He climbed onto the massage couch, pulled the sheet up around his waist, placed his arms at his sides, and waited for Simon.

Simon knocked. "Come in." He heard Simon inhale slightly at the sight of the exit wound on his shoulder. John was used to the reaction and it didn't bother him anymore. As long as there wasn't pity following the inhale, he was fine with people's reactions. He knew his back was otherwise unmarked and he had kept himself in shape, so it was toned. He had stopped letting the scars on his body embarrass him. They were part of who he was, and he wouldn't have led the life he had without them.

He closed his eyes as he heard Simon step up to the couch to begin. He felt Simon began the massage by tracing small circles on John's back and shoulder, finding the problem areas he'd need to work out before moving to John's injured shoulder. The touches were firm enough to do the job, but gentle at the same time. Simon's hands ghosted down his back and back up. John sighed. He was going to enjoy this.  
Simon raised up and John felt him tuck the sheets into the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down to just below his waist, revealing the curve of his lower back. His back was now fully exposed, and if he was honest, slightly chilly. He knew that would change as the massage progressed and the friction of Simon's hands against his skin created needed body heat. He heard Simon pump the lotion into his hands from the bottle on hisbelt, and John prepared himself for a "good hurting". Surprisingly, what he experienced was far from that...

Simon turned his attention to John's uninjured right shoulder. John felt Simon's strong fingers working out a knot John hadn't realized was there. He usually had to tell a new massage therapist when they were putting too much pressure or not enough in an area, but with Simon he didn't have to say a word. It was almost as if Simon somehow knew just the right amount of pressure John needed. Simon rolled out the knot, using one hand to massage the area, while framing the muscle group with his other. John felt a warmth flowing from Simon's palm that was almost comforting. No wonder so many people praised his abilities. John wasn't sure he'd want any other massage therapist after this, and Simon was just getting started.

John sighed. He almost never did that during a massage, and here had done it twice. He hoped he could stay awake so he could enjoy this and thank Simon when he was done. Every touch felt wonderful. His muscles slowly relaxed under Simon's talented hands. Simon was working his way down his lower back, kneading out the tension. This wasn't something that the other massage therapists did. They mainly focused on his injured shoulder. John realized just how much he'd been missing out on. Maybe John was imagining it, but he felt special. Almost as if Simon was putting his whole self into making John feel better. Each touch, even though there was firm pressure behind it, felt almost like a caress. When Simon raised John's arm and placed it behind his back to work on the muscle group, John felt Simon's fingers entwined with his to hold his hand in place. Long fingers held his as Simon worked out a particular nasty knot.

Simon lowered John's arm back to his side and began to work on his lower back, again applying just the right amount of pressure. John had always been sensitive in that area, and it was all he could do not to groan when Simon started working there. John had managed to "keep it professional" before but something about the way Simon was touching him made him teeter on that line. As if sensing that the line was about to be crossed, Simon quickly finished his work in that area. Simon walked to the other side of the couch to begin his work on John's left side.

John was suddenly worried about his scar. He hadn't been earlier, but the way Simon had been touching him made him concerned. Why? He soon realized the worrying was unfounded. With Simon's first touch of his scar, John relaxed. Simon treated the exit wound like it was priceless. He traced the lines of John's scar, lines John himself had memorized. But Simon's treatment was far from the clinical investigation John had done. Simon's touches were almost fervent, and John thought he detected a slight tremble. Simon massaged each line of the scar individually before working on the center tissue. The touches became almost, almost loving. John had never had anyone pay this kind of attention to his scar. He didn't want it to stop and for some reason the thought of anyone else besides Simon touching his scar that way was, at the moment, unbearable. Before he could begin to question how he was feeling or why Simon would be paying such personal attention to his scar, Simon tapped him to roll over. John obeyed, keeping his eyes closed, afraid that if he opened them the raw emotions he was feeling might show and cause Simon to stop whatever magic he was working

Much to John's chagrin, Simon started with the right shoulder again. Simon seemed to sense John's dismay and paid just enough attention to the small knot he found to work it out. Simon raised up and John heard him take a deep breath, as if preparing himself for something. John waited; he understood what that breath meant. This was taking a lot out of Simon, and as much as John was enjoying it, he didn't want to completely drain the man. Slowly, Simon began to work on the entry wound. The wound itself was not as large as the exit wound on his back, but it puckered differently, and this was where the damn bullet had entered his body. There was a reverence in Simon's touch, gently massaging the lotion into the scar while working out the tension of the tissue and muscles beneath it. John felt Simon's breath on his shoulder. He assumed that Simon was bending to inspect the wound and make sure he didn't miss any areas. The warm breath on his shoulder sent a shiver through John's body and Simon pulled back. John's eyebrows furrowed, he wished he could have controlled the shiver. He enjoyed Simon being that close.

John realized that Simon was done and standing behind him. "Thank you, that was amazing. You really are a miracle worker," John said as he sat up.

"You're welcome, John," came a shaky but familiar baritone. John spun around. Behind him was a ginger, green eyed and tearful Sherlock.

**This is intended to be a one shot, but, as with a lot of my work, I leave the door open.**


End file.
